


Valedictorian

by orphan_account



Series: Insatiable [11]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Smut, Male Submissive, Masochism, Pegging, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Sadism, Spanking, Teacher/Student Roleplay, also he's a total boob-man, claude gets several valuable lessons in this, in true me fashion i have to have like 4K of ~plot~ before the actual porn, spanking with a ruler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Claude finds his old Officers Academy uniform. You can probably guess what happens after that.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Insatiable [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448014
Comments: 9
Kudos: 149





	Valedictorian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShiDreamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/gifts).

> Enjoy. ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> If you're new to my goofy self-indulgent series, all you need to know is that all men are subs and all women are doms in my world.
> 
> Beta'd by my sister, Brachydios.

“Whoever draws first blood wins.” Says a man who can be no older than twenty years old. His short chestnut hair is complimented nicely by his red overcoat that’s accented with gold. He comes from a noble house further up north, away from the continent of Fódlan, and as such he speaks with a thick accent. 

Estefania, Byleth thinks his last name is. He won’t be inheriting his family’s House, no, that privilege belongs to his elder sister. Instead, he came to Fódlan in hopes of honing in his fighting skills and becoming a general for his country. 

Soon, he will be donning the uniform of the Officers Academy. 

Ordinarily, Byleth would have responded to a request to duel with a long winded sigh and ripping up the letter they sent her. She used to get endless requests after being crowned Queen. Claude, too. The only difference between their fights was that she was challenged by Almyran bigots, while Fódlan bigots challenged Claude. Everytime, their opponents would mouth off about wanting to see if they were  _ worthy  _ of ruling both their respective nations.

Everytime, they wiped the floor with them.

Who knew that the only thing you needed to do to make two kingdoms united was to beat the shit out of some haughty nobles who thought too highly of themselves. 

This duel is different, however. At this point, it’s been years since Byleth was challenged to one, and this man is neither Almyran or from Fódlan. When she read his letter, she couldn’t help but smile. Practically every sentence ended in an exclamation point, his excitement just oozing over the page. He was so genuinely enthusiastic over the prospect of fighting her, making sure to dole out every compliment as possible to her in his writing, hoping to score a lesson with  _ the  _ Professor Byleth Eisner.

So she accepted his duel. Besides, not like she’s very busy at the moment, even for a Monarch. Years of peace have allowed for the days to grow calm and lazy. No emergencies, no pressing news, no law making, no stifling meetings with nobles, nada. Most of the time the days are spent discussing new trade routes with the Merchants Guild. And some days, Byleth almost thinks it’s a dream. Too idyllic to be true.

She appraises the man  — no, the  _ boy  _ _ — _ in front of her. He’s got a long sword, gripped tightly between both hands. His right hand aims the blade, and his knees are slightly bent. His back is hunched just a tad. He’s smirking, and coupled with his eyes, which cast the brilliancy of emeralds, he reminds her of Claude from his school days. He’s a young, sprightly little thing. 

She estimates the match will be over in four seconds. No more, no less. 

One second. 

She holds up the Sword of the Creator with one hand in front of her, with one foot ahead of the other. The foot that’s behind is on its toes, ready to propel her for strike.

Two seconds. 

Estefania steps forward, and she responds by stepping forward as well. He moves his sword to his right for overarching strike, but with how it slants towards the ground more than it should, she assumes it’s a bit too heavy for him. 

His stomach. His left arm. His left shoulder. His collarbone. His neck. His head. So many targets to choose from. 

She opts for one that would be lethal.

Three seconds. 

They close in on one another. He swings his sword with a heavy  _ hmph!  _ that would hit her mid-section if it were to connect. It won’t. She’s too good for that. 

All she needs to do is take two steps to the side with a twirl to be back to back with him. 

Four seconds. 

She strikes. She doesn’t even need to look at him. She just swings her sword and with the light grunt she receives she knows she’s won. 

She nicks his neck. A light scratch, but blood draws from it. 

“First blood. I win.” When she turns, she can’t hide her small grin at Estefania’s expression, which can only be described as a mix of confusion and awe. His hand goes to his neck, then he just stares at the small rivulets of blood. 

She’s still got it, becoming a mother of twins hasn’t slowed her down a bit.

“If this were a real battle,” she continues, “Your head would be rolling on the floor.”

His gaze snaps back at that, and he gives a wide dimpled smile. Awfully happy for someone who lost almost immediately. 

“Wow! I have heard so many stories of your exploits, but to see your skill firsthand is something else entirely! Truly you are worthy to be the Warrior-Queen of Fódlan!” He rubs his neck again, eyes lighting up, “To  — To be scratched by the Sword of the Creator is marvelous! I hope it will scar. I would love to tell everyone back home that I traded blades with someone of your stature.”

She snorts, both at her new moniker and at his comment about the scar. She doesn’t really have it in her to say the scratch will actually heal normally. 

Estefania sheathes his blade before bowing deeply. “Thank you. This fight showed me truly how lacking in skill I am. I know enrolling to the Officers Academy was the right decision.”

Byleth shrugs lazily, a habit she’s picked up from Claude. Estefania has a lot to learn, and he’ll likely need more than a single year to become the warrior he hopes to become. 

“If I may, I’ve got some advice. That sword is clearly too heavy for you. Either get something lighter,” Though, from the emblem it bares she assumes it’s a family heirloom. Choosing another weapon is likely out of the question, “Or build the muscle to be able to properly hold it.”

She moves her position to mimic his starting stance before the fight, “And you gripped the sword like so. I recommend gripping it like this instead,” she moves her thumb upwards to where the blade would begin and the hilt ends, “By gripping the hilt sideways and supporting it with the thumb on the ricasso, a number of blocks and strikes are possible that otherwise would not be. You will be able to fan the blade sideways, left and right, by turning your right hand; something you seemed to be struggling to do in our fight.”

Estefania nods, eyes gleaming and with a smile that reaches his eyes. “Yes, yes. And then I would turn the blade if I need to parry anything, correct?”

She tuts. 

“Parry with the edge, as it’ll give you more effective cuts. More importantly, you’ll be able to exert more pressure to your opponent’s blade. Never parry with the flat of the sword under any circumstances.”

_ Though the flat of the blade can be good for spanking a particular kind of masochist.  _ She absentmindedly thinks,  _ But Estefania doesn’t need to know that. _

He nods again, face seeming to beam even more. He gives her a mock salute. 

“I will brand this information into my mind! My soul! Thank you, Professor!” Then, in a move that catches her off guard, he grasps both her hands and holds them close his face, “Please, your Majesty, won’t you consider returning to the Officers Academy to teach? Even if it’s just for a single term I am sure every student there would benefit immensely from your wisdom.”

She would respond, if it wasn’t for a  _ very  _ familiar voice suddenly filling the courtyard. 

“Making advances towards my wife, are we?”

Estefania’s smile fades faster than a snuffed out candle, and he goes chalk white. He releases his hold on Byleth’s hands like she was made of fire. Behind him, she can see the guard that accompanied him give herself a facepalm.

“Y-Y-Your Majesty,” he splutters, hands waving around like he’s trying to block incoming projectiles, probably Claude’s arrows in his mind, “I didn’t  — I wasn’t  — ”

Claude holds up his hand, and Estefania’s mouth goes shut with an audible click. 

“I’m joking. Relax.”

Perhaps becoming too embarrassed to stay, Estefania bows deeply again before saying, “I am sure my Mother is waiting for me. I must leave. Thank you again for the lesson, Queen Eisner. Please, think about my suggestion.” He nods at Claude, “King von Riegen.”

Claude does his telltale smirk that tells Byleth he’s not going to let Estefania go that easily. Poor boy. He never stood a chance. 

“If I may depart my own lesson,” he puts his hands behind his head, “Be wary of how you conduct yourself in front of people’s spouses. Wouldn’t want to start a war because you made a King jealous now would you?”

The boy blanches again, then hastily bows again before leaving with a walk that’s far too quick to be casual. 

Byleth sighs, “You really should stop tormenting our guests like that.” It’s far from the first time he’s made some random noble run away. His guard rolls her eyes at him.

  
Claude huffs a small laugh. He puts an arm around her waist and holds her close. 

“What can I say? I got miffed that he only invited you and not me. I like to think I’d be a great Professor,” he leans in and gives her a peck on the cheek, “I agree with him, by the way. You should consider going back to teaching, just for a little bit.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a country to govern,” she says with a grin.

“I distinctly remember you complaining, on more than one occasion, about having nothing to do because there’s no pressing issues to deal with.”

She furrows her brow in mock offense, and reaches up to pinch his cheek. She’s rewarded with a happy whine as he’s forced to lean down to her level. 

“Is my husband trying to get rid of me?”

“I just want an excuse to call you Teach again,” he winks, “Anyway, never said you had to do it now. Was thinking when Dimi and Edel gets to that age, I think it would be swell if their dear ol’ mom was their Professor.”

She lets go of his cheek. As much as she wants to put her hands in his hair and force him to his knees, they’re in the middle of the courtyard, and Claude isn’t much of an exhibitionist. She’ll just have to settle with giving his rear a light, teasing tap. 

“By the time they’re old enough they probably won’t want anything to do with us,” she huffs and folds her arms together, “You know how kids at that age are like. All angsty and angry at everything because of puberty.”

He’s a bit red now thanks to her little tap, but it doesn’t deter him from giving her another peck, though this time it’s suspiciously close to her neck, “What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t torment them just a little bit, eh?” Then, he cranes his neck just slightly to the side, bearing his neck to her. She responds by putting her hand on him. To the outside observer, it looks like a sweet, gentle touch, like putting one’s hands on someone’s cheek. But upon closer inspection, Byleth is raking her sharp nails across the delicate skin of his throat. 

Claude, eyes now dilated, speaks with a light rasp, “B-Besides, I gotta embrace my inner Jeralt. They’ll be, what, seventeen? Eighteen? By the time they go to the Academy? They’ll definitely be interested in other people by then. I’ve got to give plenty of shovel talks. I’ve even been practicing a couple speeches. Wanna hear?”

She releases him, their little game ending before it began. She’s not really interested in fucking him until he doesn’t know his own name while they’re in the middle of talking about their kids. Her lips quirk upwards at the mention of her father. He would have made a great granddad, she thinks. 

Dimitri and Edelgard. They’re seven years old now. They don’t really look anything like their departed friends, having gotten Claude’s hair  — his  _ luscious locks,  _ as he put it,  — and her mint-teal eyes. Dimitri is quieter than his twin sister,  _ much  _ quieter, taking after his mother in terms of his already excellent poker-face. Claude likes to joke that he’s practically the male version of her. 

Edelgard on the other hand takes more after her father. A rambunctious schemer, always dragging her brother into her plans. Byleth already knows she’ll be quite the handful by the time she enrolls into the Officers Academy. She’s already a handful for Seteth. 

Byleth smirks, “Sure. I’ll even grade your shovel talk.”

Claude matches her smirk with one of his own, “You can do a lot more than just grade me.”

That earns him a snort. Ever since Dimitri and Edelgard left to a small town in Almyra he’s been a lot more forthcoming with his desires. Officially, their children are on an  _ “excursion to involve and engage themselves with commoners early, so that they are able to better relate and understand their subjects for when they ascend the thrones.”  _ Which is technically true, but in reality it’s just a simple camping trip with their friends and Claude’s wyvern. Mainly, it’s an opportunity for them to just be children, to play in the dirt and go fishing. Raphael and Flayn is with them, so Byleth is sure the nights are spent doing their shouting exercises. 

Raphael and Flayn have been such a lovely constant in their children’s lives, so much so that they have a new title:  _ Uncle and Auntie.  _

Seteth is also with them, and he has the illustrious title of  _ Grandpa.  _ Claude had spat out the tea he was drinking when Edelgard first called him that. And when Byleth joined her daughter in calling him that he looked like he aged at least fifty years. But she knows he likes his new moniker, of being a part of their family. She’s seen him wipe his damp eyes in private.

  
Byleth and Claude are in the middle of the palace’s many corridors when she speaks.

“Very well,” Byleth huffs, “I mainly want to see how well you’re able to do your shovel talk when I’ve got my hands all over you, anyway.”

She doesn’t miss the hitch in his breath. She relishes in the moments she has him on his toes like this. Half the fun is the anticipation, waiting for the moment to strike and to  _ really  _ make him weak in the knees. Most of the time, all she needs to do is corner him with a look and stick her knee between his legs.

And that’s exactly what she does. 

* * *

Perhaps it’s the idea of going back to the Officers Academy that’s making her nostalgic, but later that evening Byleth finds herself rummaging through old memories. She’s in her nightgown, going through various boxes filled with what survived their school days. Claude’s currently asleep in their bed, muscles probably feeling like they’re made out of jelly after she used her hands and mouth on his cock. He didn’t get very far in his speech before his words became a jumbled mess. 

He’s always been such an easy man.

Byleth looks through the boxes, and it doesn’t take long before she’s gotten their old Golden Deer House flag. She’s forgotten that, despite everything, this survived the war. The colours are faded with age, but the stag still looks as regal as ever. 

She puts it to the side. She already knows she wants to hang it over their fireplace later. 

Next she sees old letter from the Advice Box. She smiles when she sees Cyril’s old drawings. Looking at them now, he really did have a hidden talent for illustration. No wonder he got a scholarship to Hilda and Ignatz’s artisan academy. 

Speaking of the pink-haired axe wielder, she finds some of the old trinkets she made. Most of them are scratched or broken, but Byleth finds a beaded bracelet Claude made with Hilda’s help. She decides she’s going to put this in her jewelry box. 

She spends what feels like an hour just looking through different knick-knacks. The memories were a mixture of joyous nostalgia and sadness. So much had happened in that year of teaching, and the pain from the war was unimaginable. 

But despite it all, Byleth thinks everything was worth it. That everyone, no matter what, was born good.

She decides she’s done enough rumination and packs most of the items away. The boxes are a decent size, and when she picks then up under her arms it’s a bit difficult keeping them there due to how bulky they are. 

“Those look mighty heavy. Need help?” Claude’s voice says behind her. 

So he awoke with her rummaging. She sees his legs are a bit wobbly,  _ post-nut bliss  _ is what he called it. She has to stop herself from guffawing every time she thinks of that term. 

The boxes aren’t  _ really  _ heavy. They feel as light as a feather, considering her strength as a goddess, they’re mainly just a nuisance to hold. Regardless, she nods at him. “Sure. Thanks.”

Much to her slight chagrin, he actually doesn’t take one of the boxes. Rather, he steps directly behind her, and before she can ask what he’s doing she feels the palms of his hands at the underside of her breasts. He cups them, lifting them up.

“There we go,” he says through grin, “That’s a big weight off you.”

_ Of course. I should have seen this coming. _

He doesn’t let go when she walks to the closet. Their steps are in perfect sync, and when she puts the boxes away he continues to knead her breasts. They’ve always been his favourite part of her body. Almost every morning she wakes her his hands gently on her chest, and sometimes he would just sit on her lap and lovingly massage them. It’s not even a sexual thing half the time. It’s just a thing he does. A bonafide boob-man. 

“Your tits are massive,” he says when he finally stops touching her. 

“Thank you for the reminder.”

If she had a zenny for every time he told her that, she’d have more money than the national treasury. 

Claude peaks over her shoulder, a curious expression gracing his features. “Looking at some old stuff?”

“Mhm. I got a little nostalgic.” She kisses him on the cheek when she turns, “I’m going to hang the old Golden Deer House flag over the fireplace mantle. I think it’ll look pretty good.”

When she leaves, he stays. She assumes he’s going to take a trip down memory lane as well. 

* * *

It doesn’t take long to hang the flag. The deer stares at her from the mantle, and she smiles. It looks like the flag was made to be hung up there. 

When she’s relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea, frantic footsteps makes her way towards her.

“Byleth! Byleth, Byleth, Byleth!” 

She doesn’t look at him when she takes a sip, “What is it, Claude?”

“Look!”

When she does, she has to stop herself from dropping her cup. He’s  — He’s wearing a uniform,  _ his Officers Academy  _ uniform. The hell? It survived the war? She didn’t even see it when she was looking through the boxes. Was he hiding it just for this occasion? Though from the sheer jubilation on his face, it seems like it was just as much as a surprise for him as it is for her. 

He isn’t wearing the boots, so he’s barefoot. The bottom of the pants only end above his ankles. It’s noticeably tighter, too. He still has that cute little golden cape around his shoulders, though his jacket looks as though it’s about rip. Then, she looks at his chest. He’s giving off a generous amount of cleavage. 

The first thing she thinks is,  _ Was he really that small when I met him?  _

Then she thinks to his chest. He likes to talk about the size of her chest, but his  _ manboobs  _ are just about ready to burst through the seams. 

Claude crawls onto the couch, his eyebrows waggling the entire time. 

“Come on,  _ Teach.  _ You’ve got an unruly student to take care of.”

She quirks a single brow at him, “Right now? Weren’t you just complaining about your muscles feeling like jelly?”

“The prospect of getting fucked is a magical thing, Byleth. I’m positively  _ rejuvenated  _ and ready for round two.” He shrugs lazily, “Besides, we got that flag over the fireplace now. It already feels like we’re back at the Academy, heh.” He flutters his eyes, his voice going into a falsetto, “Oh,  _ Professor!  _ I’d do  _ anything  _ to pass this test!”

She snorts, but she can’t help but think of the times when she was his Professor. Of the times she incessantly teased him and the nights she masturbated to his image. She can’t deny that this sort of roleplay is… enticing. 

She was feeling tired. Ready for bed after her tea, but. Well. Claude did say the prospect of a fucking was a magical thing. He’s right, as she’s starting to feel ready and wide awake. Dimitri and Edelgard are only coming back tomorrow. Tonight  _ would  _ be the best time for this.

She grasps his chin with her thumb and forefinger. When she leans in, she grins at how he closes his eyes and puckers his lips for a kiss. Cute. 

She doesn’t kiss him, rather she whispers lowly, her breath like a feather against his lips. 

“Prepare yourself, little deer. I have some things to get.”

* * *

“I’m an archer, Teach. Getting in close kinda defeats the purpose.”

Claude gives Byleth a lopsided smile, his hands behind his head. She merely shrugs at him, face impassive. 

“What if you have multiple opponents charging at you? You won’t be able to shoot them all down. So you need to be proficient in close hand to hand combat.”

They’re in their room, with the furniture moved to the side for a makeshift sparring ring. The rules and limits have been set. Byleth is wearing her old jacket she wore as a professor, along with a black suit. She couldn’t wear her old outfit, seeing how Claude burned her tights a few years ago.  _ “An affront to any goddess out there,”  _ he called them. Meanwhile, he’s still wearing the uniform, haven even taken the time to make a small braid on the right side of his face. At Claude’s side he has a training bow with fake arrows. They wouldn't want to cause damage to the walls with  _ actual  _ arrows, they learned that the hard way after getting yelled at by Seteth one time. 

Claude picks up his bow and nocks an arrow in its string, “Trust me, Teach, I’m a damn good shot. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I can already tell you I’ll be getting top marks.” He winks. 

Byleth smiles inwardly, not showing her growing anticipation or glee on her face. There was nothing more satisfying than making a man eat his words. It was even more satisfying when she fucked him and made him cry. 

She wordlessly lunges forward. She’s unarmed, but part of being the Ashen Demon was being quick on her feet. Claude shoots an arrow, that she easily avoids by swiveling her body. She shoot another, which is avoided with a small jump. He’s forced to take several steps backwards when she quickly approaches.

Before he’s able to nock another arrow, Byleth’s hands grasp around his lovely throat. When her fingers dig deep against his skin his eyes go wide as saucers. He lets out a sharp gasp when he’s harshly slammed against the wall, the framed paintings jostling slightly from the force. 

“You’ve missed your shots,” she says lowly, “Now what will you do?”

She can see fear briefly register in his eyes and she can feel herself growing wet. When his body twists and writhes to escape her hands, she just gets even more aroused. Claude’s hands grips her wrists desperately, but his efforts to pull her arms away are in vein. She  _ is  _ significantly stronger than him, afterall, a fact he loves being reminded of. 

With her hands still on his throat, she pushes him onto a table besides them. Now lying on his back, Byleth presses against his body, one of her legs between his. 

“What do you do when someone physically stronger pins you down?” She asks, “Come on, I know you know this. We just had a lecture on it.”

“‘M… nngg… Haah..” He gasps when she further tightens her hold on his throat. She can feel his pulse thunder against her palm as he pathetically whines and whimpers, lungs trying to greedily inhale any air it can as she blocks his windpipe. 

When his eyes begin to well up with tears she feels a slick wetness slide down her thigh. He was especially beautiful when he cried. 

She rubs her leg against his crotch and he shivers. “You’re such a handful, Claude von Reigen,” she growls, “Always causing trouble for myself and your classmates. Not only that,” she grinds against him harder, earning her a truly divine whimper from her student, “You’re  _ arrogant.  _ Far too cocky about your skills. That will be your downfall. Like right now.”

“Nhhn… a-aaahah — ” He claws at her back, and Byleth watches with intense glee as his face turns a deep red. His movements slow considerably, and his eyes slowly begin to close. Air is becoming a precious commodity for him. 

He's already grown hard against her leg. 

In one swift motion, she lets him go. Claude crumbles to the ground in a heap of desperate gasping and sniffling. 

Byleth looks at the angry red lines crisscrossing his neck that came from her nails. She grins, all teeth. He’s a canvas, and she’s the artist. 

While he’s trying to steady his breathing, she circles around him. She tuts. 

“I’m afraid you didn’t get top marks there,” when she’s behind him she leans down to whisper against his ear, “When you’re getting strangled by someone just now, if you can’t maneuver their elbow will disrupt the geometry of the choke, you’ll want to try to reach their face with your hands,” her hands go in front of him, and he inhales sharply when her thumb-pads touch his closed eyes, “If you can, you’ll want to press down and gouge their eyes out with your thumb.”

She takes her thumbs away from his eyes. Claude sniffles again before turning to her. His eyes are already bleary.

“O-One heck of a lesson there, Teach…”

Her smirk widens.

“And I’m about to teach you another.”

Before he can formulate a response, Byleth picks up his discarded bow. 

“There’s more than one way to use a bow.”

Claude practically  _ squeals  _ when she pulls the rest of the weapon against his already bruised throat. She continues to pull, each hand on either limb of the bow, and Claude is forced to arch his back. 

“Te-Teach — !!” 

He doesn’t say much after that, going back to choking and gasping. He sounds so wrecked and guttural, a loud symphony for her ears. 

“Once you’ve gouged your opponents eyes out,” she says, not bothering to hide the sadistic joy in her voice, “You can choke them like so. It’s more effective than you think.”

His eyes roll back, and she can see the delicious tears and drool flow down his face. As much as she likes his face in this moment, she doesn’t want to damage his throat more than simple bruising. She loosens her grip, and just as she’s about to release him again she feels a sharp, intense pain shooting through her chest that makes her gasp. 

She drops the bow, one her hands immediately grasping one of her breasts where the pain came from. When she looks at Claude, he’s got a condescending smirk that she immediately wants to slap off. 

“Lesson for you Teach,” he splutters, wiping some drool off his chin, “When getting choked from behind, you can elbow your opponent. Tits tend to be a weak spot for women.” His grin becomes that of a  _ shit-eating  _ kind, “And you’ve got two massive weak spots just hanging there.”

That fucking does it. 

Unlike Claude, she doesn’t get off on pain, so getting elbowed in the breast doesn’t do anything except piss her the fuck off. Her fists clench and her teeth lock up, practically vibrating with rage. She sees the flare of fear  — and arousal  — that flickers across Claude’s face. He wants an ass whopping? He’ll damn well get one. 

She stands, face still formed in a deep grimace that she knows tells Claude he’s in deep shit. He doesn’t have time to react when her hand scrunched into his tumble of hair, the curls suddenly violently pulled. He hisses at the pain that must come from his scalp, and he’s forced to stand. 

Byleth practically throws him against the table. Now lying on his stomach, she forces him to stay still by keeping her grip on his hair. She takes a wooden ruler she had set on the table earlier. 

She leans, voice now a deep snarl, “One more problem, my dear  _ student,  _ is that you lack  _ discipline.”  _ She lightly taps at him, not missing how his entire body practically jumps at the contact. “I intend to fix that.”

She doesn’t go easy on him with the first smack  — no, he can handle anything she gives him. The impact of the ruler hitting his ass practically echoes across the room, followed by a heavy groan on Claude’s part. She doesn’t give him time to parse the sudden pain, because she smacks him again.

And again.

And again. 

And again. 

There’s a sharp whistle in the air every time she thwacks him. Soon it’s joined by his wonderful whimpering that he tries  _ so hard  _ to keep in. A particularly hard smack almost makes him reel across the table and he yelps. 

“You failed that lesson,” she punctuates each word with a heavy smack, Claude heaving out choked gasps with every hit, “However, you get top marks for taking your punishment.”

Claude’s knees buckle, and soon he’s shifting from foot to foot. He arches his back and practically presents his ass for each hit, but at the same time he tenses his body and moves in a way like he’s trying to avoid it. 

She likes this… this  _ dance  _ he does every time she gives his ass a good workout. It’s like he doesn’t know which foot to stand on. Sometimes he bends a leg far enough he almost hits his foot. She watches him constantly curl and uncurl his fists as he takes the pain.

She knows he’s aching at this point. His sniffles and wet gasps tell her as much. The ruler gives him a splash of hot, stinging fire with each strike. Her movements becomes sharper and fiercer, wrangling out desperate and shrill moans from the brat she looks down upon.

Her clit feels like it’s on fucking fire. Her thighs are pretty much flowing waterfalls at this point. Soon enough, she knows she has to get herself off. 

She throws the ruler to the side, then grabs his pants. She’s not really thinking about what she’s doing when she just rips a hole in it rather than just pulling it down. From the surprised grunt Claude gives her, he obviously didn’t expect that either. Byleth takes a second to appreciate the blazing red marks gracing his sensitive skin. She can’t help but pinch one of his cheek and he huffs heavily. When she spreads his cheeks, he moans lowly. 

“Oho.” She grins. She watches a slick, clear liquid seep out of his puckered entrance. He gasps when she presses her thumb against his hole, and there’s no pressure when she enters him. 

“Look at you,” she says, voice rough, “All slick and ready for me. Did you really seek out extra lessons so that I could fuck you? Is that it?”

Claude just whines like a bitch in heat. It’s probably the best answer she’ll get out of him. 

It doesn’t take long for her to put on her double ended strap-on. It sat snugly on her lips, rubbing against her clit before a generous amount slipped inside of her. She doesn’t hide the hiss of pleasure that comes out of her, and she lazily fucks herself on it. She only stops when Claude throws his head back to look at her annoyedly. 

“Patience,” she says smugly, “I’ll have to make a lecture about the importance of patience later.”

Claude grins at her with foolish confidence, “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll tell the Church of Seiros about this. Student-Teacher relations are strictly prohibited.”

That earns him another smack on his rear, he yelps but isn’t undeterred, “W-Who do you think they’ll believe, Teach? A House leader or a random mercenary they picked up for the job?”

Now she just snorts at him. She wasn’t aware they were playing blackmail roleplay as well. Though she supposes blackmail student-teacher nonsense go hand in hand.

She rolls her shoulders. She’ll just make sure to wipe that cocky grin off his face. 

* * *

She doesn’t go easy on him, again. It’s clear he just wants to be  _ destroyed  _ and Byleth considered herself to be a gracious partner. He’s no longer able to make snide remarks, now just begging needily. His voice is hoarse, and every time she thrusted into him he rocked his hips with a whimper. 

Byleth grips him at the hips, her nails digging into his flesh and keeps a firm, steady and  _ punishing  _ rhythm against his defenseless body. Every shrill cry sends a lightning strike of fierce warmth to her core as the other end of the strap-on rubs against her. She shivers when her third consecutive orgasm rips through her.

She knows his dick must be so,  _ so  _ heavy between his thighs. It’s leaking a fair bit, practically begging to be touched. Byleth made sure to slap his hands away every time he tried to reach for it. Now he grips at the end of the table with blanched knuckles, eyes half-lidded and gasping each time she fucked the breath out of him. 

“Mhhmph… By — By… ugh… nnhhn,” Claude whimpers, his voice breaking off to a low groan as he bites into one of his sleeves. 

In a split-second decision, she moves back and completely exits him. She chuckles when he almost falls off the table with how far his ass follows the dildo, desperate to keep the large member inside of him. He throws his head back to give a glare, though it’s not very effective considering his face is full of tears and drool. 

Byleth doesn’t waste time manhandling her prize so that he’s lying on his back. When she gets his legs over her shoulders she leans down so that he’s forced to practically fold himself in half. A jolt of pleasure shoot through her when his eyes flutter and he struggles to say something. 

‘

The pleasure continues to wash over her in intense waves when she shoves the dildo back into him, returning to the same punishing pace she had before. Claude openly sobs now and claws at her back and hair. She licks some of his tears, before moving to nip him on his collarbone. 

“Tell me,” she says in a low predatory whisper, “How many hours do you spend in class just daydreaming of moments like this? How many hours do you spend masturbating instead of doing your homework like a good boy, hmm?”

Claude squeezes his eyes shut, “I-I.. nngh…  _ f-fuck…”  _

He outright squeals when she slithers a hand between their slick bodies and grasps his aching cock. He chokes out a keen when her skilled fingers pump in, her hand in sync with her thrusts. “Tell me, Claude.”

“E-Every day!” he cries while shuddering wildly, “Every hour! Every second! Ev-hrrnng,  _ argh _ _ — _ _ !!” _ his breath is stolen away as he convulses violently, back arching as much as it can. With a simple flick of the wrist Byleth makes him cum, and he spills messily between their two bodies. She shudders herself, a fourth orgasm achieved.  _ Wonderful.  _

She presses into him, snarling and giving him open mouthed kisses. Soon, Claude’s eyes flutter open and closed, exhaustion quickly overtaking him for the second time that evening. 

* * *

“Here, have some vulnerary. For your neck.” 

Claude wordlessly takes the medicinal solution from Byleth, quickly feeling a comforting relief wash over him as the magic does it works on his bruises. They immediately fade like they were never there. 

She’s back to wearing her nightgown, while Claude’s naked, lying on his stomach on their bed. She’s been massaging him for the past 30-minutes now, making quick work of the knots in his muscles and being careful with his rea. He hums appreciatively with every gentle touch. 

“Sorry,” he eventually mumbles, “About elbowing you. Didn’t mean to do it that hard.”

When he lazily reaches for the breast he hit to knead it, she huffs. “Don’t worry about it.” She smiles, “You get an A for your kneading technique.”

They stay like that for a while, until Claude happily lays on Byleth with his head in between her chest. It’s a position they usually sleep in. 

Soon, Byleth speaks. 

“I think… I will go back to teaching. Maybe.”

That clearly interests him, as he lifts his head up to match her gaze. “Really?”

“Not for a term, and certainly not as a full-time professor. I think I can probably go as a guest lecturer. Maybe for a day or two.”

“And when Dimi and Edel are enrolled there?” He smirks.

She takes a moment to consider this. 

“Well, as you said, it’s a parent’s job to torment their children.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I did make M!Byleth their son. Also dunno if I did the roleplay correctly but whatever. I like how it turned out.
> 
> Hope ya enjoyed. Comments are my oxygen uwu


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